30 Evil Deeds: Gin
by Candyland
Summary: Because even Bad Guys with Blonde Hair of Evil need some love, too. —The True Enemy: Shinichi confronted Gin, demanding to meet the head of the Syndicate.—
1. Missing

**Title: **Missing  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#8—rusty chains  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **When he came back, she was gone.

* * *

Her fate had been decided. All that was left was the execution.

In every sense of the word.

With Vodka right at his heels, Gin made his way back up to the lab. He walked through it and headed towards the room where they'd left their little traitor to await her fate. He opened the door, grinning sadistically from ear to ear. "Hello, Sherry—" The words froze on his tongue, and his smile faltered.

He'd half been expecting to find her dead there; she just seemed the cowardly type who would rather take her own life than be subjected to the Syndicate's rather unique form of justice. The rest of him believed that her cowardice extended to the point that it would prevent her from suicide.

But even Gin was surprised to walk into the room…and find it empty. The only sign that Sherry had been there at all were the handcuffs they'd used to chain her, still dangling from the pipe. Without that, it would have seemed that the treacherous girl had never even been in the room.

Behind him, Vodka gasped. "W-where is she?" the shorter man sidestepped his superior and went into the small prison room, looking around but finding nothing at all.

Gin took in the scene with a cold, critical eye. She certainly hadn't killed herself, at least not in this room—the body would have been there, obviously. The place had no windows, and they'd just come through the only door. Granted, they had left that door unlocked, figuring the chain was enough to keep her from leaving, but there was no sign that the cuffs had been broken.

It was almost as though she had simply disappeared.

That thought led him to briefly wonder if she had taken that poison she was so dutifully developing. He'd glanced at the lab records, and in a few very rare cases, the test mice had displayed a strange side effect: they'd shrunk to the point of disappearing. But he shook that thought off as well. Even if she had taken the poison and undergone that same physical transformation, her clothes would have been left behind. Yet all that remained was the chain.

Somehow, she had slipped her bonds and escaped. The question was simply how.

"Aniki…" Vodka was saying something to him.

Gin silenced him with a look. "She can't have gone far," he said shortly. Walking into the room, to the spot where Sherry had been left on the floor, he knelt and reached down to catch something there between two fingers: one strand of honey-colored hair. A murderous smile slid across the killer's face. "Alert the boss. Our little traitor has flown the coop."

It seemed their games would be postponed for a later time. In the meantime…

Let the hunt begin.

* * *

**PS.** _I resisted as long as I could, but I was goaded into this. I particularly blame Jeva—CURSE J00:shakes fist in the air: So yeah, I'm going to play with Gin for a bit now too. As a general rule, these will probably be shorter than my usual challenge fics. Don't expect these all to be serious, either. I promise you, there will be some nice crack-fics along the way. _

_Thanks for reading, everyone. Much love! _


	2. The Root of All Evil

**Title: **The Root of All Evil  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#1—kittens  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **The slightly crackish story of how Gin became Evil.

**---**

Once upon a time, there was a little boy.

This little boy had a pretty crappy life all around. He wasn't needy or anything, but his parents were never home, always away on business. They didn't have a lot of time for their son, and so he was frequently left to his own devices.

School was no better. He was different from the others, and so he always stood out from the crowd, never quite fitting in. Granted, that might also have had something to do with his hair. The boy had insanely long blonde hair. He didn't know why it looked that way—it just always had, and he didn't question it. His hair had been like that for as long as he could remember.

One of his classmates (possibly the only kid in class who was stranger than he was) told him that she sensed much evil about him…and felt that it might somehow be tied into his hair. The boy told his classmate to go do something very rude involving the classroom's chalkboard eraser, three pencils, and a yard of mosquito netting.

He then briefly pondered as to whether or not his classmate was right…and then shrugged it off and went about scribbling disturbing doodles in the margins of his school notebooks. No sense in worrying about such minor details.

Then one day, the boy found a stray kitten hiding in the bushes outside the front door of his house. It was a very small black kitten, and its tail had gotten tangled in a branch. The boy freed the kitten and picked it up. He momentarily considered setting it on fire, but when it mewed at him, he suddenly realized something he hadn't thought possible.

He _did_ have a heart.

And the kitten was tugging at it.

Resigning himself to this unpleasant epiphany, he took the kitten inside to find it something to eat. And so a beautiful, if slightly strange friendship began.

When the boy was around the pet kitten he had so lovingly and uncreatively named Blackie, he didn't feel quite so alone. He could talk to his pet kitten, and the kitten would never judge him. He took Blackie places, and showed Blackie different things. While he did his homework, Blackie would sit on his desk. They did everything together.

For the first time, the boy realized that he could love another being. And he started to wonder if maybe he could actually find it in himself to be a good person, instead of the evil monster he had always contemplated becoming. He even thought about cutting his hair.

And then the unthinkable happened.

The boy was outside playing Tag with Blackie when suddenly the kitten shot ahead…just as a car pulled into the driveway. And the boy stood on the grass and watched in absolute horror as his beloved pet, his only friend, was run over by the car.

While he was standing there, stunned, the car door opened, and his father climbed out. "Hello, son!" he said cheerfully. "I'm home!" He only paused long enough to pat his son on the head before strolling nonchalantly into the house, completely ignorant of what he had just done.

That night, the house burned down. The married couple who lived there died in the blaze. Their only child, a boy with slightly psychotic tendencies and potentially evil hair, was not found.

Eventually, the boy grew up (as boys will do) into a man. An evil man. And at some point along the line, he joined a massive Syndicate (also evil) and became an assassin. It was relatively easy career choice to make, after all.

He was given the codename Gin within this Black Organization, and quickly became one their most respected and most feared agents. No one could touch him, no one could catch him, and no one could survive an encounter with him and his Blonde Hair of Evil. He was invincible!

(And evil.)

…until he crossed paths with a young, up-and-coming detective named Kudo Shinichi, who not only survived, but actually came back to bring Gin and his entire Syndicate down. And Gin found himself under arrest and in prison.

It was strange, though. As he sat in his cell awaiting trial, the guards swore they heard him constantly muttering to himself—something about 'father' and 'kitten.'

It was very odd.

**---**

**PS.** _I blame this/dedicate this to **SoulSeeker**. Totally. Anyway, the first couple stories here should give you a pretty decent indication of what you're in for throughout this challenge. Namely, there shall be serious fics, and there shall be crack, and there might even be some things in the middle. This? Crack. Not claiming it to be anything else._

_Yes, before you even ask, I am wrong in the head. I'll just sit here and wait for someone to come and lynch me for this. Thanks for reading, all. Much love!_


	3. The Visit

**Title: **The Visit  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#17—Go outside and shut the door.  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **There he was. The man who had nearly taken Shinichi away from her…

* * *

Mouri Ran swallowed hard and fidgeted impatiently as she waited for the guard to open the door.

She hadn't told Shinichi she was coming here—he would have been displeased at best, and outright forbidden it at worst. Not that he could have stopped her or anything—she was far too stubborn for something like words to change her mind. But she didn't like lying to him, and just hiding this from him somehow felt _less_ like lying.

Finally, the guard stepped up and nodded. She had clearance.

It was time.

The door opened. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she stepped into the small jail cell. And there he was, sitting on the bed. She knew him mostly by his code-name, Gin. But most importantly, she knew him as the man who had nearly taken Shinichi away from her.

And he glared as she walked into the room. He recognized her. "Well, if it isn't Kudo's little girlfriend," the blonde man sneered. "Come to gloat? Scream? Rage?" He chuckled humorlessly and sat back, the lit cigarette hanging precariously from his lower lip.

"I came to tell you something," Ran squared her shoulders. "I just wanted to say…"

He waited.

"…thank you!" Ran chirped, pulling her hands out from behind her back to shove a bouquet into Gin's startled hands. Her voice was all happiness and cheer, and she was smiling broadly.

His cigarette dropped from his mouth to the floor as his jaw dropped in shock.

"I owe you big time!" she gushed. "I mean, I'm not happy that you nearly killed Shinichi—I should probably kick your ass all over the place for that—but because of what you did, so much has happened! We had a little chat, and he said he did a lot of thinking while he was stuck as Conan, and he finally understood a few things that even I couldn't get through his stupid thick skull! He told me how he felt about me!" She clapped her hands as she spoke.

Gin openly gaped. He hadn't been this stunned since…well, he couldn't remember ever being this stunned. And he didn't like being stunned. It almost made him wish he had his beloved handgun to put an end to the little annoyance in front of him. But no dice—they took his gun away when they threw him in here.

"So I just thought I'd come by and say thank you for waking the idiot up," she shrugged. "That's all I really wanted. And they told me I could give you the flowers as a thank you present. I tried to pick ones that I thought you'd like. Now…well, now you can rot in hell for all I care." She turned and headed back towards the door, where the guard was waiting. "See you at your trial!"

As she stepped out of the cell, the door shut with a loud clang.

Now alone, Gin looked down at the bouquet she'd given him. And he could have sworn that one of the Venus fly-traps looked back at him, nestled amid the black roses.

…quite frankly, it might have been one of the nicest presents Gin had ever gotten.

* * *

**PS.** _Ehehe…yay hiatus?_ _And yay crack? I think this was sparked by a few comments to an older fic, and I think the comments were between myself and **sapphirestars**. So she gets the shout-out on this one :D Also for **RanMouri82**, who asked for crack for Christmas. I give it to you freely._

_Thanks for reading, everyone. Much love!_


	4. A Different Darkness

**Title: **A Different Darkness  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#11—unbearable anguish  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **It was the first time in his life that he'd tried to save someone.

* * *

Gin was not a stranger to death, not by any means.

It was a constant fixture in his life. He was a highly skilled assassin for a crime syndicate who viewed killing as a means to an end, and innocent victims as mere obstacles to that end. A gun, a knife, an explosive…just a few of the tools one could use to overcome those obstacles.

He didn't even know how many people he had killed in his days with the Organization. Once upon a time, he had kept count. It was a game of sorts, to see how he measured up to those older and more experienced than himself. He would surpass them someday, he vowed. He would become the greatest killer of the organization.

Ambition was a fickle thing in the syndicate, though—something to be wary of. To be ambitious meant that one could move upwards through the ranks, gain a codename (a true symbol of stature), and have standing and influence in the Organization's dealings. To have too much ambition meant that one was a threat, and threats were always eliminated before they could do any damage.

A few of his former superiors had displayed a bit too much of that ambition. And he had personally dispatched them on the boss's orders. Then he had taken their place—his was a proper ambition. He wanted to prove himself, and achieve a certain standing. He had no immediate desire to go beyond it.

But this…this was different.

No…no, he needed to stop thinking about it.

So he kept driving on, trying to ignore that strange echoing emptiness somewhere in a part of him that he hadn't even been aware existed. It was hollow, vacant…and dark. But it was a different darkness from the one he was used to. He was accustomed to the darkness of death…

But he had never had cause to harden himself against the darkness of _caring_ about death.

It really had been a stupid mistake, an error in judgment that had trapped them in a shoot-out with a few police officers who had managed to wind up in the wrong place at the wrong time and catch wind that something was going on. The bullets had flown fast and furious.

Luck (if one believed in such a thing) had been on their side once again. Four well-armed, well-trained Syndicate agents had eliminated the cops…with a casualty of one on their side. One of their own had been shot in the fight.

It was the first time in Gin's life that he had tried to save someone.

But to no avail. The wound was fatal, and his most trusted associate had lay dead.

The stoplight a block ahead changed to yellow; he slowed to a stop as it turned to red.

Thus stopped, he turned his head to look at the passenger seat beside him.

Vodka's seat.

He turned his gaze forward again to wait for the light to change, trying to put the image of the empty seat from his mind. But it was stuck there, another reminder of what had happened. Just one more thing to make him think of a stocky body sprawled on the cold concrete in an alleyway while blood pooled around his head.

The light changed.

Gin drove forward through the darkness outside the windows of his Porsche, unable to quell the different darkness swelling in a place he hadn't know he had.

* * *

**PS.** _This is for ladybug-chan, who requested a drabble from me about a hundred years ago, and has been unbelievably patient with me while waiting for it. I LOVE ON YOU!! Well, after a couple of more cracky fics, we get angst! WHOO! I'm getting really close to finishing up Nights and Hugs (four fics left between the two challenges)—this one remains my "back-burner" challenge because it has no time limit. So I hope you'll be patient with me and keep checking back for more ficcies._

_Thanks for reading, all. Much love!_


	5. Q and A

**Title: **Q and A  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#2—paper clip  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **Apparently, being a murderer involves a lot of paperwork. Who knew?

* * *

One wouldn't think that being a top assassin in a monstrously large crime syndicate would involve so much paperwork. But amazingly enough, it did. It REALLY did.

Gin loved killing, he truly did. He loved using his trusty handgun to blow away unsuspecting victims. It gave him a rush like nothing else. And truthfully, he knew that the paperwork served a purpose—he was proud of his record within the Syndicate, and it was somewhat gratifying to see it spelled out like that. But overall, he would just as soon have done without.

Sighing (and feeling the overwhelming urge to shoot something), he bowed his head to the required forms and went about getting them filled out. The sooner this was done, the better.

**Codename: **_Gin_

**Reason for filing: **_Murder_

**Business or pleasure? **_Business_

For some reason, that question never failed to amuse him.

**Describe the incident in detail: **_I approached the target from behind and fired one shot into his head, using a silencer. Target was killed instantly—mission accomplished with a minimum of mess._

**Any witnesses to the mission? **_A small baby in a stroller across the street seemed to have seen the shooting. Witness reacted by sucking on its pacifier and drooling_.

**Actions taken to deal with witness(es): **_None. Even I have standards. Judging by the screaming when the brat dropped the pacifier, it can't talk anyway._

**As a Syndicate, we value your opinions. What recommendations do you have for making your missions of Evil and Chaos more enjoyable? **_Get rid of the goddamn paperwork._

That was the end of that one. Now, the health form…

**Were you injured/killed in the course of your mission?: **_No._

Gin didn't understand that question. He privately wondered if Vermouth had written these things.

**Have you experienced any twitches, tremors in your firing hand, or any other symptoms that may hinder your ability to perform missions in the future? **_No._

**Have you experienced any guilt, second thoughts, or ideas about going to the police? Please note that answering "yes" will not immediately cause your execution, but may be taken into consideration in deciding your future with the Syndicate: **_No._

**Any unrelated health concerns you feel we should be aware of: **_If you must know, my hair has been far less shiny as of late. I am very distraught over this, though as yet it has not impeded my ability to mercilessly kill any targets I am given._

**Comments? **_LOSE THE PAPERWORK. We could be out killing people._

_I hereby acknowledge that the above information is true to the best of my knowledge, and that I may be executed if it is found to be untrue, regardless of whether I know of the untruths or not. I also acknowledge that the Syndicate has the right to order my termination for any reason that they see fit, fair or not, with or without notification of my impending death. My remains will be dealt with as the Syndicate sees fit, and my death will be officially listed as an accident. I am perfectly okay with this._

Gin sighed his code-name to the form, paper-clipped everything together, and place it in the appropriate file. It would be examined later by a one of the Syndicate leaders, and his personal record would be updated accordingly.

He sat back in the desk chair and sighed.

He. HATED. Paperwork.

And he was still relatively convinced that Vermouth was behind this. Somehow. She had to be.

…now he REALLY wanted to go kill someone.

* * *

**PS.** _…okay, I wish you could all see my notebook, where I hand-wrote this. And all over the margins and empty spaces I have scribbled things like "This sucks!" and "This was funnier my head!" But I'm posting it anyway because for some reason the idea continues to amuse me, even if I'm not a hundred percent sure about my execution of the idea._

_Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	6. Alternate Method

**Title: **Alternate Method  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#16—4:54 PM  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **Gin found a new way to off his targets!

* * *

When Gin stumbled across a rather strange-looking notebook one day, he picked it up on a whim, began paging through it (though it was blank)…and wound up stunned when a monster of some sort appeared in front of him.

After the initial "WTF?" moment, he listened as the monster—who introduced himself as a shinigami—explained that the book was called a Death Note and had the power to lets its holder kill people from afar, with mere knowledge of the person's name and face. He could specify things exactly, or just write in the name and let the person die of a heart attack.

Now, it just so happened that Gin had been handed a new assignment. He had the file on his desk beside the Death Note; said file included his target's name, along with a photograph of the man. Intrigued by the prospect of this new power and possible alternate method of doing away with his hapless victims, he decided to give it a try.

So Gin lifted his pen and wrote the name of his target in the book, along with a random time for later that day—though he decided to just let a heart attack do its thing: _Gosho Aoyama, 4:54 PM._

…who the hell was Gosho Aoyama, anyway?

News of the victim's death was on the news that night, proving that he had been successful. Family and friends of the deceased were stunned, as the man (who was apparently some sort of artist or some such thing) had been in relatively good health, and it seemed strange to them that he would just drop over like that. It was suspicious to some, but there was absolutely no evidence to suggest foul play. If someone had somehow managed to give the man a natural heart attack, they had committed the perfect crime.

After it was over, Gin thought for a moment before he went back to his desk…and put the Death Note in the very bottom of the lower drawer. He then retrieved his handgun and repocketed it. When the startled shinigami asked why he would do that, Gin simply shrugged and said, "It's just not the same."

* * *

**PS.** _It seems like I've been seeing Death Note everywhere I look, and I think it got to me. An interesting series, though not my usual cup o' tea. But yes, random mini-crossover thingie here! I've gotta write more non-crack fics for this challenge…but the crack is so easy and nice and lemony-fresh! Oh well._

_Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	7. What's Underneath

**Title: **What's Underneath  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#23—amber and jade  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **Gin is about to learn something about his partner.

* * *

Gin and Vodka had been partners for quite a long time, and Vodka was one of the few people Gin would actually consider being worthy of the title of "friend." Needless to say, mass murderers (particularly ones as Evil has he) didn't tend to have a lot of friends.

But there was still something that Gin wondered about in regards to his partner.

At first he tried to ignore it as a silly thing to ponder over. But as time went on, he found himself growing more and more agitated about it. And for the life of him, he didn't know why! It was pointless to wonder about, but he did anyway! And the longer he thought about it, the more he realized he was becoming obsessed with it!

And it was still completely ridiculous!

But finally, one day, he finally snapped. It was over a meal that he lost his grip and demanded an answer. "What the hell is under your hat? And your sunglasses?"

Vodka stared blankly. This was not a deviation from his normal character.

"I have never seen you with your hat or sunglasses off! Ever! What the hell do you have under there?" Gin said. At that point he seemed to realize where he was and what he was doing, and sat back down, looking as flustered as Vodka had ever seen him.

"Aniki…" Vodka started, then faltered. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I am."

There was a pause. Then Vodka shrugged and reached up to pull of his hat.

And suddenly, they were in the middle of a shampoo commercial. Vodka's hair (and there was a LOT of it) tumbled down from the confines of his hat in long, amber-colored waves. It was shiny and healthy-looking and slow motion-y and how in the hell had he been hiding all that up there.

Once his hair had come loose entirely, he shook his head. In slow freakin' motion.

That done, Vodka reached up with his other hand and removed his sunglasses.

What stared out from under them were big green anime-style Bambi eyes. They were hug and teary and damned if Gin didn't feel the sudden, disgusting urge to hug his partner. But then he would have to shoot both of them, and that was just a hassle.

Gin stared in obvious shock while Vodka put his sunglasses back on and expertly twisted his hair back up under the hat. "That's why I wear these all the time," the stockier man said simply. "Without them, no one takes me seriously."

"…I can't imagine why," Gin replied.

* * *

**PS.** _So…I have essentially given up on the idea of having many serious fics in this series. The crack is just too easy to write! I can't help it! And I have more crack-tastic ideas just begging to be added! So…I hope everyone is okay with crack._

_Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	8. Pick Up

**Title: **Pick Up  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#6—monk  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **This target couldn't be handled with this usual methods…

* * *

Gin wasn't exactly celibate.

In fact, there was nothing in the Syndicate's rules or code of conduct that forbid members from enjoying relations or dating. Granted, eyebrows tended to be raised if one of the partners involved was not a Syndicate member; that could put one or both of their lives at risk for security reasons. But fraternizing was not expressly forbidden, provided that it did not interfere with "business."

So Gin wasn't exactly oblivious to the fairer sex. Granted, Vermouth made it very difficult for _any_ male to be oblivious to her, whether he wanted to be or not, but that was a special case. He certainly was not a priest or monk, as evidenced by his, ah, behavior. Generally, though, it just wasn't something he paid a great deal of attention to.

But he currently had a problem. A rather high-profile victim of his had somehow managed to escape Gin's murderous hand with his life intact. It had recently been determined by the Syndicate higher-ups that said victim was, indeed, very much alive and was now reputedly on the run, hiding out somewhere and waiting for the right time to make a move.

Thus, he found himself on the receiving end of an order from the Boss: he was to find and kill (for real this time) one, Kudo Shinichi, teenage detective extraordinaire. The trouble was that Kudo was apparently very good at hiding. There were a few rumors here and there, but nothing substantial. Nothing panned out.

But someone dropped a bug in Gin's ear about a possible way to find the elusive detective. Unfortunately, this method—namely, a witness—could not be handled by the usual means. The witness might know something, but given the person's relatively high-profile nature and reputed loyalty to the missing detective, threats of violence probably would not work.

But there was another way.

And that's why he was here.

He felt uncomfortable, having traded his trench coat and fedora for a less evil, more conspicuous (or so he thought, because black trench coats were completely unobtrusive) sweater and jeans.

As the target approached, he reminded himself why he was doing this. To get to Kudo and make the second most satisfying kill of his life—the first would be Sherry, when he found her—he had to stoop to this.

The target stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change. Gin sidled up to the crosswalk, took a breath, and, feeling extremely awkward, said, "So…you come here often?"

Mouri Ran blinked.

* * *

**PS.** _There's probably a firing squad out there with my name on it for this. The joke is based on Conan file 621, which I won't totally spoil for you. We were joking about how all you had to do to find out Conan's secret was to hit on Ran, and...well, I made the comment that Gin would exploit that, and lo, a fic was born. MY KINGDOM FOR NON-CRACK PLUNNIES!!_

_Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	9. Simple Things

**Title: **Simple Things  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#7—an old rug, rolled up and tied  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **Gin enjoyed the simple, practical things in life.

* * *

It was the simple pleasures that really made life worth living. And Gin really did enjoy the simple things in life, like waking up in the morning to find that it was a gray, overcast day; knowing that there would be a storm was delightfully depressing. But many of these simple things were also quite practical, he'd found.

Sitting in front of the mirror and brushing his (evil) hair exactly one hundred times to ensure maximum shininess and volume? That was simple personal hygiene.

Going to see the Boss about his newest assignment and getting to sit in that one very comfortable chair that he swore had evil upholstery? Simply business.

Cruising around in his Porsche? That was a safety thing—if he walked, he could be hit by a car. Being a pedestrian could be extremely dangerous, you know.

Reading about the Manson murders during his lunch break? Literacy, and education. He was schooling himself in further ways to Not Get Caught.

Taking an old rug and throwing it into the sea? That was recycling. Fish probably didn't have interior decorators. Maybe they could use it in their coral reef or something.

Listening to the final scream of the man wrapped up in the old rug as he plummeted the thirty feet into the water? That was…okay, that was just fun, plain and simple.

Truly, it was the simple, practical things that made Gin's life so wonderful. And evil.

* * *

**PS.** _…I'm just going to mark this with the "This was a whole lot funnier in my head" stamp and move along. Thanks for reading, all. Much love!_


	10. Socio: Broken

**Title: **Socio: Broken  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#13—shards of glass, glittering like diamonds  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **Even though he said the words, he was not sorry.

* * *

He has always been different from other people. Even as a child he was aware that he did not react to things the same way other people did.

When he was seven, he broke a vase. It was genuinely an accident—he bumped into the table it was sitting on; it wobbled, then tipped over sideways and crashed to the floor where it shattered into many, many pieces.

Judging by the reaction, it was either very important or very expensive. The adults ran around in a panic. He was scolded for his clumsiness and made to apologize for what he had done. He even said the words "I'm sorry."

But he wasn't sorry. Or rather, he didn't think he was. He couldn't remember ever feeling an emotion that he would describe as sorrow. So he couldn't truly say if he was sorry or not. But he was almost one hundred percent sure that he wasn't, and the apology was nothing more than two empty words.

Instead…he was fascinated. He was intrigued by the way the vase spun as it fell, how it hit the floor, how it seemed to disintegrate when it hit the floor, how it dissolved into all those pieces when it broke, how some pieces were big and others were tiny and miniscule, how the shards were scattered on the floor in a sort of pattern, how they sparkled in the overhead light…

It was intriguing.

He stooped and picked up one of the larger pieces…and gasped when the sharp edge cut into his fingers. He dropped the shard; it fractured into even smaller pieces when it hit the floor again. And blood ran down two of his fingers, dripping across his palm in thick, dark red lines. The shard that had cut him was tinged pink.

He was scolded again, this time for his carelessness, and the broken shards of glass were swept away.

But it was so interesting to him that something could be so fragile and break so easily, yet hurt him like that. And, he noted as the broken glass vanished from sight, that where his blood had fallen, the glass no longer sparkled; it had become dull.

The pieces of the broken vase were unceremoniously thrown away. How stupid, he initially thought, to make such a big deal out of something and to get so upset over it…and then to simply toss it in a garbage can and forget about it like it were nothing. But what he gleaned from this experience was a different viewpoint on things: this vase was reportedly so valuable to them, yet it broke so easily, and was then discarded. Therefore, when something was broken, it became useless—he figured this to be regardless of circumstances. And when something was useless, it was to be gotten rid of and forgotten.

An intriguing philosophy.

And still he was not sorry.

_**-o-**_

Ten years later, he again destroyed something irreplaceable, and infinitely more precious. And again, it was not quite intentional, but it changed his perspective.

He had fallen in with some different people as he'd grown up. He heard teachers and other adults refer to all of them as being a "bad crowd," but he really didn't care too much about what Those People thought. Truthfully, he didn't care too much for these alleged friends of his either. They weren't really friends so much as simply people to be around. They emulated and imitated each other, choosing dark colors to wear and growing their hair long, letting it be as wild as they were.

But the group he was a part of wasn't the only one of its kind. And one drizzly night, he found himself in a fight with someone from another gang. The offense was a trumped-up charge against him about him being in this other guy's way. But he knew that it was really nothing of the sort; this guy—a punk kid, easily a few years his junior—just wanted to pick a fight with someone, and he was just the first suitable prospect to cross his path.

It was a ruthless brawl, acted out in an alleyway. At first it was just fought with punches and kicks, as was relatively par for this particular course. But soon enough he saw the glimmer of steel in the dim light.

One of his "friends" had shown him the proper way to wield a switchblade knife. Hold it like so in the hand, and move the wrist like so to ready the blade. And always jab upward, aiming for the gut or lower chest. A downward thrust might put a faster end to things, but it could also be redirected fairly easily by a hard push to the wrist, leaving the wielder open and vulnerable to retaliation. Underhand to the gut first, then go for a finishing strike if necessary.

That "friend" had also given him a knife of his own. He saw value in it immediately, and carried it on him at all times. He caught his opponent's wrist and held it long enough to fish his own weapon from his pocket. Press the button, flick the wrist, and jab UP…

The other guy jerked and froze. His knife fell from his hand and clattered to the ground by their feet.

On some impulse, he pulled the knife free and jabbed again, this time aiming higher. The man made a strange gurgling noise and let out a few choked gasps. He pulled back, yanking the knife free and watching as the kid fell to the ground, where he twitched and gasped a few times.

He made no move to help or offer aid. He simply observed the process—that's all it seemed to be, really. A process. The movement, the noises, the way the red blood flowed and mingled with the debris in the alley. And he continued watching even after the motions and noises had subsided. Though he was by no means a stranger to it, this was the first time he had witnessed death like this. He had never actually seen it this close before.

It was interesting. There was no sorrow, but rather fascination, much as he had been intrigued by shards of broken glass on a floor years earlier. He looked down at his hand, and realized that he had somehow managed to cut his own hand in the course of the fight. Blood was running down the back of his hand. And he found himself drawn to a conclusion much like one he had arrived at long before, though it went another step further, beyond the one he had drawn as a child.

Human life, like the one he had just ended, was really as fragile as that glass vase had been. And it could be broken just as easily, and left in pieces on the ground before the remains were taken away and disposed of.

It was…almost funny, somehow.

He paused to wipe his knife clean on the dead man's sleeve before returning it to his pocket. It was then that he noticed his hands. In the dim light, he could see that they were red with blood. Though he had cut himself, he knew that there was no way for all of the blood to be his.

He examined his hands for a moment before wiping them on his black pants. He would have to wash his hands later. He tossed his long blonde hair back out of his face and turned to leave the alleyway, the body still on the ground. He would not be averse to witnessing this process again; it was interesting.

Only one thing about the experience had displeased him, really: the knifing had left a bad taste in his mouth. Next time, he would experiment with a different method. He knew that guns could be quite efficient, though they were hard to come by in Japan. But it wasn't because he felt sorry for his victim, or because he thought that it would make death come any more quickly or painlessly.

He just didn't like getting blood on his hands.

* * *

**PS.** _What, no crack? That's right! For number ten, we went to something…serious!_

_This is actually a new idea I'm applying for some of these fics—not all, though. There will still be some crack, I promise! But I was talking with **sapphirestars**, and we got to discussing the fact that Gin displays some fairly sociopathic traits. So I did a little research and found a list of some traits common to sociopaths. Many of them did apply to our favorite mass murderer. So I'll be using that list to inspire some fics in the future for this challenge. This one came from "Unable to feel remorse, shame, or guilt."_

_So after being at this for over a year, we've finally made it to double digits! A third of the way through! YAY! Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	11. Keyed In

**Title: **Keyed In  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#14—a fine, unsmudged line  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **Either she was getting bolder or it was a really unfortunate prank.

* * *

Gin stared in complete and total shock.

He and Vodka had stopped for a bite before they went on their way to participate in further seedy doings that might or might not involve killing people with bullets. They had come out of the café, and found a little surprise waiting for them at the car.

Okay, maybe "little" wasn't the right word for it. More like, "What the (censored)?"

Gin couldn't believe it. For quite possibly the first time in his life, he was struck completely speechless.

So he stood there, ignoring the fact that Vodka was standing beside him and waiting nervously for his next move (or possibly the imminent explosion), and let his eyes trace the thin fine lines that had been carved (possibly with a key) into the side of his beloved Porsche. The lines formed three unbelievable words.

_SHERRY WUZ HERE._

Either she was getting bolder, had gone crazy, or someone else had played a very, VERY unfortunate prank.

One way or the other, someone was going to die.

* * *

**PS.** _A few people expressed some displeasure at the idea that I wasn't going to do anymore crack. I never said I wasn't going to do anymore crack—what I said was that I want to have some serious fics in this challenge. So my plan is to alternate between crack-fics (like this) and the more serious "Socio" ones. Hope that clears things up—there will be weird, crazy humor!_

_This hit me while I was listening to Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats." Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	12. A Day in the Life of Evil Incarnate

**Title: **A Day in the Life of Evil Incarnate  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#27—counting the hours  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **Gin had a busy day ahead of him.

* * *

_7:00 AM: Wake up. Begin morning ritual_

When his alarm went off in the morning, the being known as Gin sat up, looked at the clock…and fell over again. But when the heinous buzzing didn't stop, he obligingly rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, pausing only long enough to shoot the alarm clock.

Let it never be said that embodiments of Evil were morning people.

Once he was up and moving, though, he set about getting ready for his day. This included washing his face with Evil-brand soap, brushing his teeth with Evil-brand toothpaste (minty!), and brushing his Blonde Hair of Evil exactly one hundred times for maximum shininess.

After he had cleaned up and attired himself in a manner befitting his standing and profession, he headed down for his favorite breakfast: a big bowl of Evil-O's! Hmm…evil…

_8:00 AM: Head to work_

With his morning routine completed, Gin hopped in his Black Car of Evil (with Vodka in tow) and headed out to cause suffering in the world. A glance at his assignment sheet from the Syndicate proved that he had a very busy day ahead of him.

_9:00 AM: Death_

_9:30 AM: Death_

_10:00 AM: Death_

_11:00 AM: Death_

_11:30 AM: Death_

_12:00 AM: Lunch_

A charming little Italian bistro provided good pasta. It was so tasty that Gin decided not to nuke the place, lest the chef die and thus be unable to prepare such a meal for him again.

After the last noodle had been devoured (and for the record, embodiments of Evil did NOT slurp their alfredo, thank you very much), they headed back out to the car. When he turned the key in the ignition, the radio came blaring on. "…is radio station E-V-I-L, for all your Evil music needs! We're bringing 'em to you seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day, sixty seconds a minute!"

It was Gin's favorite radio station. Well, back to work.

_12:30 PM Death_

_1:00 PM: Death_

_1:30 PM: Death_

_2:00 Afternoon tea_

This was the part of his day that didn't involve death—or worrying about his hair. And Vodka did make some delicious scones. His only complaint was that the Syndicate's botanists had not yet found a truly Evil tea. They one they were currently drinking was only Moderately Unpleasant.

They needed to keep working on that.

_3:00 PM: Death_

_3:45 PM: Quick death_

_4:00 PM: Jazzercise_

Although it was incredibly asinine, Gin reminded himself not to shoot this instructor. Walking embodiments of all that is unholy needed to be in shape!

_5:00 PM: Death_

_6:00 PM: Death_

_7:00 PM: Late dinner_

_8:00 PM: Death_

_9:00 PM Death_

_10:00 PM: Free time_

During his "down time" in the Syndicate's lounge, he wound up getting into an argument with Vermouth. As she walked away with a decided swing of those famous hips, Gin really thought about making her dead.

_11:00 PM: Bedtime_

As he curled up in bed (possibly with a teddy bear, although no one who has ever seen for certain has lived to tell about it), Gin reflected on what a great Evil day he'd had. When he fell asleep, he dreamed about Sherry. And death involved Sherry.

Such a wonderful dream.

* * *

**PS.** _And you were all worried that I wouldn't write anymore crack. PFFT! I actually scribbled out the basic schedule a long time ago, drawing inspiration from a couple of different sources (most prevalently Eddie Izzard). I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	13. Socio: Variety

**Title: **Socio: Variety  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#10—a briefcase full of cash  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **It's the spice of life…and death.

* * *

He had a natural gift for doing things that would make the most seasoned cop tremble, and doing them well. To a normal person, the actions were horrendous; to him, they were business. Life and death were merely part of the currency of that business, a transaction no different from any deal made by in offices by men in suits over desks and financial charts.

His first employ in the Syndicate had been as a killer, and he had proven to be quite skilled in the delicate field of assassination. His stealth was unmatched, despite his rather unconventional appearance of long, fair hair. It wasn't long before his superiors realized that they had a different sort on their hands, a far cry from a run-of-the-mill agent—one they could use to their full advantage.

They apprenticed him to a senior member who taught him the ropes. This man was his mentor, showing him the best way to fire a gun, training him in the use of firearms and explosives, and guiding him into other forms of crime. It was not long before the student surpassed the master.

One afternoon, he was called before the leaders of the Syndicate. He was given a code name, a symbol of true status within the group. It meant that he was valuable to them. And so he became Gin.

That night, he executed his mentor on the Boss' order. The older man had served his purpose. His old teacher was waiting for him, as though expecting him. The man died of a bullet to the forehead, the same manner in which he himself had ended so many lives. He dropped to the ground, a strange smile on his face—it was like that was exactly the manner in which he wanted to go.

_Murder._

The remains were unceremoniously disposed of, and Gin went about his work as a newly-minted Syndicate supervisor. He had a great deal of work to do.

Murder remained his operation of both choice and greatest skill. He enjoyed the feel of pulling the trigger, the sight of life bleeding away, the silence of death. But his mentor had shown him other ways, though the gun remained his favored method.

He found he had a great talent for research as well. There were those better in that field than he, and there were agents who sole job was to dig up information, but he did have a surprising knack for finding people's dirty little secrets and exploiting it to his benefit and the benefit of his superiors. Those secrets could be anything, from things the person had done to playing on a person's fear of something.

_Extortion._

Skeletons could rattle very loudly in one's closet, and Gin had excellent hearing.

As he continued to display his unmatched skills, his superiors' trust in him grew, and he was given more responsibility. He became the supervisor of a Syndicate laboratory.

_Drug research and development._

It was in that pursuit that he met Sherry, the young scientist who directed the lab. She more or less ignored him and went about her work. She fascinated him, and he watched her. The more he observed her, the more he became convinced that she was, in fact, quite frightened of him and what he could do. She simply focused on her work when he was around, seemingly preferring her microscope to his company.

Her work was making progress, and on the appointed day as set forth by the Syndicate, Sherry presented him with a pill—a poison that would disappear within the body after ingestion, leaving no trace to be found in an autopsy. She cautioned, though, that there were still tests to be run.

Gin brushed off her warnings, pocketed the poison, and went to a meeting with a few other agents. They were in the middle of planning a sizable bank robbery with the potential for a billion yen payoff at the very least. Sherry's sister, Akemi, was to lead that job.

_Armed robbery._

He was ordered to go tend to a business matter regarding some gun smugglers. They were willing to pay dearly to keep their illicit industry a secret from the authorities. The meeting was to take place outside of a local amusement park, Tropical Land. He took his partner, Vodka, and they headed out. They were to signal from the top of the roller coaster, and then go to meet their contact to exchange their evidence (a roll of film) for money. It was a simple, routine transaction.

_Blackmail._

There wasn't supposed to be a death on the coaster.

When the ride came to a stop, he found himself detained as they waited for the police. The thought got his hackles up like few other things could. He was not fond of police. They were the enemy, and while he would have no real issues with removing a few from the picture, it tended to be rather messy—especially in a crowd like this. He would just have to be patient and wait it out.

He passed a few moments by observing the body, that of a man whose head had been forcibly separated from his body. It was messy work, and lacked finesse. He had a guess as to how it had been done, given the circumstances, and while it lacked refinement, it was extremely effective and made for a good, shocking show.

When the police arrived, the case took a startling turn as some kid came out of the woodwork and began explaining exactly how the murder had been done, as well as naming the murderer. He recognized the kid, but it took hearing the name for him to make the connection and realize who it was.

Kudo Shinichi.

He'd heard of him—some teenager with a knack for solving impossible cases. And it looked like he was going to get a chance to watch the punk at work first-hand. As he watched the punk verbally unravel the entire murder, he had to admit that the kid was every bit as good as the reports said he was.

Which meant that the kid was potentially very dangerous.

That sense of danger doubled when their eyes met.

Kudo had very striking blue eyes, quick and intense. And Gin had the unpleasant feeling that this teenage brat was looking right through him. That notion was solidified when Kudo's expression changed from suspicion to certainty. It was no longer questioning. His face and glare sent a clear message: _I know what you are._

As soon as the murder was resolved, he took his leave. He had an appointment to keep. He lost Vodka in the crowd, but his partner was one of the few people in the world he actually trusted, and so he was certain that Vodka would make it there, one way or the other.

Sure enough, Vodka caught up to him at the bridge, gasping and wheezing from exertion.

Gin handed him the film and sent him to make the exchange. He, in turn, kept watch for any witnesses or observers. Still, even though he was on alert, he almost missed seeing an odd shadow moving by one of the supports. Instinctively, he reached for his pistol, then paused and instead opted to arm himself with a length of pipe conveniently laying on the ground.

It was Kudo. The punk was watching as Vodka exchanged the film for the briefcase of cash—the payoff. The gun smuggler turned and fled as Gin raised the pipe over the teenager's head. Kudo realized he was there at the very last second, not soon enough to react or get away as the pipe crashed down onto the back of his head. Kudo went face-first to the ground.

_Assault._

Vodka immediately reached for his own gun, but Gin stopped him, citing the same reasoning that had caused him to forego drawing his firearm. Tropical Land loomed over them from across the street—there were still far too many police officers on the scene. A gunshot would bring the police running. They might get away; they might not. It was just too risky to attempt.

He fished into his coat and retrieved the poison Sherry had created. If it was as good as it was supposed to be, why not use it? Sherry's warnings flickered through his mind, and he grinned. Kudo should feel honored, then—he was to be the first human test subject of the apotoxin.

_Illegal drug testing._

It took mere seconds to force the pill down the teenager's throat, and he straightened. Given the overall circumstances, he would have much preferred to put a bullet in the kid's head and be done with it.

Still, he was not close-minded. Business was business, and it would be interesting to see what was made of Kudo's death. It would be sensational—such a famous detective killed by something that could not be traced. The spectacle alone was enough to make him appreciate the poison.

After all, variety was the spice of life…and death.

Pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes, he and Vodka turned to leave. The only other thing he left to his latest victim were three casual words to carry him to his death.

"Sweet dreams, detective."

* * *

**PS.** _Another one in the Socio series. The sociopathic tendency behind this one was "criminal versatility." Not much else to say, really. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	14. Deduced

**Title: **Deduced  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#4—candlestick  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **He figured it out. He had the answer.

* * *

Gin moved his yellow game piece across the board. When he reached the desired spot, he looked down and offered his opinion on the matter at hand. His fellow players replied in accordance with the game's rules, and he made notes before clearing his throat noisily.

Vodka gave him a questioning look. "You got it, Aniki?"

"Yes, I do," he replied confidently. Kir and Chianti waited expectantly as he intoned, "It was Cognac…in the library…with the candlestick." A quick check of the cards proved that he was, indeed, correct, and as such had won the game. He usually did, somehow.

The others conceded defeat, and they quickly repacked their one-of-a-kind Black Organization edition of Clue back into its box. Still chatting in a relaxed manner about the outcome of the game, they headed off to the library to check out Cognac's handiwork.

Sure enough, the body was there; the unfortunate man had been bludgeoned to death by the shiny (if slightly blood-stained) gold candlestick on the floor beside him.

Gin watched as the others moved the body and cleaned up the mess. As the winner, he didn't have to do any of the clean-up, but he got to light the fire to torch it—the best part of body disposal.

Game Night at the Syndicate was the best.

* * *

**PS.** _More crack! Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	15. Socio: Admired

**Title: **Socio: Admired  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#9—violin music  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **When he turned to leave the murder scene, he realized he had an audience.

* * *

He first met the man he would eventually come to know as Boss by chance—a twist of fate, a coincidence of timing that by all accounts should have been utterly disastrous. Instead, it became a turn of events that changed his world and put him on the path towards his ultimate destiny.

He killed a man in the park. It wasn't a difficult task, really. He had come into possession of a gun—a spoil from another altercation in which his opponent hadn't had time to use the weapon. The small firearm had already claimed his preference as a weapon of choice. It was quick, easy, and made no mess for him.

When he turned to leave the murder scene, he was stunned to realize that he had an audience. A man was standing there, watching him—a very nondescript man, wearing a long black trench coat. Definitely not the kind of person one would notice in a crowd.

How long had this man been standing there? How long had he been watching? Had he seen the killing? That made him a witness, and witnesses were something that could not be afforded. He knew he could be easily picked out in a line-up, having an extremely unique aspect in his fair hair.

He really hadn't planned on killing a second victim tonight, but it seemed a necessity now. He raised the gun and leveled it at the witness, aiming right for the head.

To his surprise, the man didn't even flinch. Not so much as the quiver of an eyelash to betray any fear or alarm at the motion. Instead, he simply said, "You don't want to do that, boy."

"Why not?"

"Do you value your own life?"

Something about the way the man said it gave him pause, and he growled, "Who the hell are you?"

"Someone who is interested in you," the man said, his voice as smooth as silk. "I am interested in what you can do, what I just saw you do." He gestured towards the body on the ground with one hand. "You are young, and you show great promise. I would like to see what can be made of you."

Facing this elegant, well-spoken stranger, he suddenly felt far younger than his eighteen years. It was a new feeling, something he had never experienced before. And he did not like it. In spite of himself and his instincts, he slowly lowered his outstretched arm to his side, the pistol still held tightly in his hand.

"I have a…group," the man said. His voice was calm, almost a purr, and as casual as one discussing a mundane topic like the weather. He was not acting like a person who had just seen someone killed. "My group engages in certain activities. I think you would find yourself quite at home there."

"…you want me to work for you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"What's in it for me?" That was a law of his world: look out for number one.

"You'll have every need met, I assure you," the man explained. When had he come closer? "You will be trained, your abilities honed. As you prove yourself to us, your responsibilities will grow. Loyalty and ability are greatly rewarded, while treason is severely punished. We take care of our own, boy."

The words themselves held little appeal—train? Responsibility? Loyalty? He was no one's slave. Yet the underlying idea attracted him, somehow—if he proved himself to this man and his group, through a talent he seemed to naturally possess…he could be recognized for it. And somehow, that spoke very deeply to him.

He'd never experienced such a thing. Not truly, anyway—not from actual admiration. From fear, yes.

To be admired…

He realized that the man was walking away, and some instinct told him to follow. The journey was short, and soon they were back at the street, where a sleek black sports car was parked by the curb. The man paused beside the car, then turned back to him, waiting.

"What if I refuse?" the teenager asked, folding his arms.

"You go your way," the man replied. "I certainly won't speak of what I've seen, and neither will you, if you know what's good for you." That last had a harder edge to it, a steely undertone that would have chilled a lesser person.

"…what sort of activities?"

"Ones that I suspect you would find to be highly entertaining, boy. I think they would suit you."

For a while now, he had been trying to figure out what it was about this man that kept his attention like this. The gun was still in his hand—why had he not used it at the very first? But now…he thought he knew.

There was something in this man's smile that mirrored his own. There was something in the way the glow of the streetlight reflected off this man's eyes, making him seem just this side of sanity.

…they were similar. Alike. Was kindred spirits the right phrase?

"…what do I do?" he asked finally.

The man seemed to be expecting this, and withdrew his hand from his pocket to offer a small card. "Come to this address tomorrow at noon. Do not be late. You will begin then. I expect great things from you, boy."

With that, he walked around and got in the car. As the engine came to life, the sound of classical music came over the speakers. The man smiled. "Vivaldi. I'm quite fond of him." He looked at him pointedly. "Tomorrow, then." He pulled away from the curb and drove off.

The teenager looked down at the card in his hand, thinking about what had just happened.

…tomorrow, then.

* * *

**PS.** _With this, we have reached the halfway point. YAY! The sociopathic trait for this was "seeks out situations where their behavior will be tolerated, condoned, or admired." Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	16. Faceoff

**Title: **Faceoff  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#28—weapon of choice  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **Gin and Akai are facing each other, both armed…

* * *

Facing Akai Shuichi ranked very near the top of Gin's DO NOT WANT list, right up there with being arrested, seeing Vodka naked, and polka music. Yet here they were, facing off against each other. Both were armed, which meant the potential for disaster was quite high—if by disaster one mean injury and or death. Both probably painful and messy.

Gin was armed with his usual weapon of choice, his trusty handgun.

Akai, on the other hand, had a sniper rifle on his shoulder, complete with a laser scope.

They stared at each other for a long moment, weapons trained on each other, fingers squarely on the triggers. Gin couldn't help but feel that this was all very out of balance, somehow…

Sure enough, Akai's lips pulled back into a smirk. Without moving his eyes from Gin's, he said, "Mine's bigger."

* * *

**PS.** _Interpret how you will :D Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	17. Pranked

**Title: **Pranked  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#3—the sound of a fan  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **The fan over Gin's head was making a weird sound.

* * *

Gin grabbed his newest mission file and headed for one of the back offices to look it over in peace and quiet. He opened the door and switched on the lights. Above him, a ceiling fan whirred to life.

He started reading, and so it took him a moment to realize that something wasn't right. The sound of the fan was off, like there was something wrong with it. He looked up.

There were two human arms attached to the fan blades, opposite each other. They were stretched out parallel to the ceiling by the force of the fan's spinning. Their extra weight had caused the creaking noise. The body to which the arms belonged was nowhere in sight.

After staring at them for a moment, Gin stood up and walked to the office door. He opened it and called out, "Very funny. Now dispose of them properly—you know the protocol."

Vermouth's blonde head appeared. "Aww, you're no fun."

* * *

**PS.** _This is all Jeva's fault. End of story. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	18. Socio: Mother

**Title: **Socio: Mother  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#20—the long-forgotten smell  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **He could smell it, even now…

* * *

His mother wore lilac perfume.

He always noticed off things, even as a very young child. And for whatever reason, he noticed that scent, light and pleasant. Such a lovely aroma, so at odds with her sadness.

She probably didn't think he noticed the way she looked at him, how she watched him as he moved and went about his activities. Her eyes carried such a weight to them. She thought him ignorant to the matter, but it wasn't that he didn't notice it…

He just didn't care overly much.

She was just another person, albeit one who had given him life. He had been told that she carried him and gave birth to him, and so he acknowledged her in that respect as his mother. The only real feeling that stirred on occasion was resentment at the fact that she was supposed to have authority over him.

Still, she was kind. She patted him on the head and told him she loved him—mothers love their children, regardless of how sad their children might make them. It was one of a few things that he could not understand.

The day she died, there was no loss. He felt exactly what he had always felt towards the woman—precious little. He was rather curious, though, as to what exactly the accident had done to her to kill her. They buried her, and for him, that was that.

_**-o-**_

Years later, as he lay dying, pierced by an FBI bullet…he closed his eyes to take one final, shuddering breath.

And as he died, he smelled lilacs. And for the first and last time in so many years, he remembered his mother.

* * *

**PS.** _The theme behind this one is "incapacity for love." Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	19. Crimes of Fashion

**Title: **Crimes of Fashion  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#15—red, white, black  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **It was Gin's first and last Kid heist.

* * *

Muttering a wide variety of curses under his breath, Gin stalked through the halls of the Black Organization's headquarters. He was livid, a state very few had ever seen him in. But he had good reason to be.

He stormed into his room and slammed the door forcefully enough to resonate through the entire building. There was a mirror on the opposite wall, and he marched up to it, glaring at his reflection as he took in the full extent of the damage. That glare was so potent, it was a wonder the mirror didn't crack.

There had been a Kaitou Kid heist that night, and he had been recruited to go assist with the ambush. The usual agents on the case had experienced a rather high rate of failure, so he had been brought in as a senior agent to oversee the operation. But the plan had gone horrendously awry when a pilfered spotlight, no doubt swiped by the phantom thief himself, had been turned to focus directly on their hiding spot.

Damn thief. Kid was getting better.

In the ensuing chaos, a cloud of pink smoke engulfed them. Still, they had escaped intact, and Gin was now left to stare at the result of the thief's magical touch. It couldn't have been any more insulting if Kid had tattooed a big middle finger right in the middle of his forehead.

His trademark black trench coat and hat were now red. A vibrant crimson red. Even his shoes had changed colors.

He looked like Carmen Sandiego.

Only blonde.

Staring at his reflection, Gin decided that maybe he should just leave all future Kid heists to Snake.

* * *

**PS.** _The ideas one gets when one is exhausted! Don't ask me where I came up with this notion that Gin in red looks like Carmen Sandiego. I think I texted the idea to Jeva at two AM, and she told me to go to sleep xD Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	20. Socio: Sherry

**Title: **Socio: Sherry  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#21—control  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **He didn't understand what he felt towards her. But he knew he wanted to control her.

* * *

She was the head scientist of the Syndicate laboratory he had been assigned to oversee. She stood out for various reasons. Physically, there was her age—merely eighteen years old, yet already deemed one of the most brilliant minds in the Syndicate. She had been given her code-name two years before, and was one of the youngest in the Organization's history to receive the honor of such a name.

There was also her heritage. She was of foreign descent, a fact made most obvious by her fair hair.

And then there was her mind, one of the best and brightest in the Syndicate. Her research was unparalleled, her breakthroughs unmatched. She did superb work, and directed the lab with the ease of a ruler in her kingdom, even those who were a great deal older than she.

The first time he met her, she was introduced as Sherry. She regarded him with a cool look and an even cooler nod, then excused herself and returned to her work. She bent her head, seemingly ignoring his presence in her domain.

His subsequent visits to the lab were very similar. She was the head of the lab, so she was his primary contact there. When he came to call, she would obligingly show him the progress of their latest experiments or the results of their newest tests. Once that duty was done, she would simply return to whatever it was that he had interrupted, rendering him invisible in her eyes.

It was an alien feeling to him. He was accustomed to people fearing him, cowering before him. His reputation preceded him, and so he tended to find himself in control of any situation simply by flexing that reputation. He was capable of many things, and a good many people would do whatever it took to avoid his ire.

But she continued to treat him with curt respect, showing him about before returning to business.

He suspected that she did fear him. Her posture was tense when he was around, and she seemed determined to get him out of the laboratory as soon as possible. Granted, that could have been because she simply wanted to get back to her test tubes and microscopes, but he preferred to think that even Sherry, stoic as she could be, was not immune to his considerable reputation.

Something about her confused him. He was not a man who lived by his emotions—they were something he carried, but nothing he paid attention to. Yet she evoked something in him that he could not name and did not understand. He cared for no one, but he found himself drawn to that lab, to her.

He could not make sense of it. Wanting to possess someone to that extent…he had no idea what it meant. And so it turned to frustration. He let no one see it, of course—her, least of all. Still, he brooded on it, and ultimately reasoned something that seemed to fit.

She was respectful and diligent, but when push came to shove, he did not control her directly. She followed her orders from the leaders. He was there to oversee progress, nothing more. And the more he thought about it, the more he decided that was it.

He wanted to control her, this creature who refused to tremble before him.

It came to pass, after a time, that Miyano Akemi was executed. She got the last laugh in her own way, though—the money she had refused to surrender to them was recovered by police and restored to its proper place. All of the meticulous planning that had gone into robbing the bank and taking that billion yen…wasted because of one woman's final act of defiance.

And as though following her sister's lead, Sherry issued her own ultimatum. She refused to do any further work on the poison she had been developing unless she received an answer regarding her sister's death.

Suddenly, Sherry was no longer in control of the lab, and he had orders to first imprison her, then execute her.

It was perfect. For the first time, she truly had to bow to his will. And he now controlled her completely, up to and including her life and her death—the ultimate act of possession. It was to be a sweet, sweet kill.

…until he went back to the room, and found that she had made one more stand against him, breaking his illusions of control. Now she defied him by denying him by escaping his reach.

Sherry had vanished.

* * *

**PS.** _The sociopathic trait for this one is "despotic control over their victims." And with this, we are officially two-thirds of the way through the challenge. Ten more to go, whee! Hope you'll tune back in. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	21. Light Reading

**Title: **Light Reading  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#5—library  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **The Black Organization had a very extensive library.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Gin was actually an avid reader. When he was younger and just starting out in the Syndicate, he had discovered the library. Once he had realized the other kinds of books they had in there, he had found himself rather stuck in the place, amidst the massive stacks of volumes.

There were the usual classics of great literature, both Japanese and foreign. There were manuals and technical guides and how-to instruction booklets of various types. There were even some children's books. Gin had paged through one of them: _Sister Bear Makes a New Friend—a 35mm Semi-Automatic._ He found it quite charming.

But the books intended for adult members were even more fascinating. _Hiding the Body_ had always been one of his favorites, along with _Building a Bomb Out of Things You Have Around the House_. He had taken many a great lesson from those two works over the years.

As he had grown into his Syndicate role, he had found even more things to read in there. He had taken great pleasure in _Taking Over the World One Poor Dead Sap at a Time,_ and he had disagreed greatly with a few of the techniques suggested in _Breaking Your Enemies for Fun and Profit!_ He often consulted _No Gun? No Problem!_ for when he just wanted some variety or when he could afford a more theatrical approach.

Yes, Gin loved the library. Now he sat in one of the chairs and perused his newest reading selection,_Tracking Your Traitor: How to Get a Gun to Her Head Without Even Trying._

* * *

**PS.** _I think I had a different point in here somewhere, but I lost it. So we'll go with this. What other books do you think would be in the Syndicate's library? I think Gin wrote one at some point, entitled__**How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Handgun.**__ Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	22. Socio: Eyes

**Title: **Socio: Eyes  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#29—immortal  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **He knows that he has made an eternal mark.

* * *

He likes to see their eyes.

There is something desperately satisfying about seeing the horror of dawning comprehension as they realize exactly what is to befall them. Their eyes widen, knowing they have nowhere to run, no place to hide, no hope for salvation except perhaps that death will be quick.

Sometimes they beg. That amuses him. They pretend to be respectable people, yet they break so easily and reduce themselves to groveling and occasionally weeping as they plead for something that he personally puts no value on.

He kills them mercilessly, heedless of their pleas.

When they fall, their eyes are usually open, staring though they no longer see. And he likes that—he can see that last horrified sight burned into their pupils.

His own image.

And then he forgets them. He does not like to remember the names and faces of those he has killed.

But he knows that he has made an eternal mark, even though no one else will notice it. He is emblazoned in his victims' terrified eyes, and thus he is immortal.

* * *

**PS.** _Very short, following two sociopathic themes: "authoritarian" and "goal of enslavement or the creation of a willing victim." Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	23. Socio: Understood

**Title: **Socio: Understood  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#18—touch my scars  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **It was all perfectly ridiculous.

* * *

The prison psychiatrist was trying to ask him question. But he had no interest in answering any of those queries. This stranger sought to pick his brain, find the various pieces that made him work, the things that made him the way he was, and then put it all together to come up with a whole picture of what made him tick.

How perfectly asinine.

He sat back in his chair, regarding the stranger with an icy, emotionless look. This was pointless, a complete waste of his time. He didn't care a whit for this stranger's time, though. It was the stranger's fault they were there in the first place. Let him waste his time here.

And let him draw whatever conclusions it was that he wanted to arrive at.

The stranger obviously believed there was something wrong with him. That in itself was patently ridiculous. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him. He was normal, healthy, and whole. Yet they sought to make him out to be some sort of monster, something inhuman.

Fools.

They knew nothing.

This alleged doctor couldn't touch him. He would never even be able to scratch his surface. And even if he did, Gin had already decided that there was no way he—or anyone else—would understand him. These people were idiots.

So he sat and listened to the repeated questions, refusing to so much as twitch a finger.

This was pointless.

* * *

**PS.** _Wow, that wound up…short. The socio themes for this were "contemptuous of those who seek to understand them" and "does not perceive that there is anything wrong with them." There will be crack in the next one. Promise. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	24. Creamed

**Title: **Creamed  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#22—sleep  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **It had been a boring night until…

* * *

A bunch of the Syndicate members (many of them code-names) had gotten together one otherwise-boring night for a good ol' fashioned movie night. Their movies of choice?

The Godfather trilogy, of course. Most of them had seen it before. But that didn't stop them from cheering at the scene where the man woke up to find the severed horse head in his bed. Glorious. Absolutely brilliant.

Still, it had been a long day for some of them—that was not very surprising, what with all the murdering and blackmail and arson they did in a good day's work. And by the end of the movie, one of them had fallen asleep. Most of the others were so wrapped up in the movie that they didn't notice until a small snore punctuated the credits.

A quick look around proved that the source of the snore was one of the Syndicate's most terrifying members, Gin.

Who was currently out cold with his fedora at a jaunty angle over his eyes.

It didn't take long for them to decide that now was a good time to mess with him. He couldn't kill them for it! A couple of them were fairly high-ranking members, on par with Gin himself! It would make the Boss very, very unhappy if he tried! Vodka was the only one who looked nervous.

After a short consultation, they decided to go with the old standby. It didn't take terribly long to set up, and within a few minutes they were all scattering from the room, laughing to themselves at what they had done in a moment of impulse and total immaturity. It had been a boring night until that.

Twenty minutes later, they all heard the roar of fury.

And immediately following that, many of them saw the fearsome Gin stalking through the hallways with a face full of shaving cream. A full covert camera flashes went off, but otherwise no one got in his way. He was muttering to himself, and that was usually a sign that something was due to blow up.

And no matter how funny it really was, none of them wanted to risk being that something.

* * *

**PS.** _Meh. Short and sort of stupid, but the mental image pleased me. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	25. Terms

**Title: **Terms  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#26—destiny  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **Gin faced the Kudo kid in what was surely to be a final showdown.

* * *

When he'd learned that the Kudo kid was still alive, it had sent up numerous warning bells in his head. First of all, it meant a failure on his part—he had not eradicated the threat, and now it stood against the Syndicate from hiding. Secondly…Sherry had to have gone somewhere, and the more he thought about it, the more those two dots seemed to connect. Gin was convinced that if he found one, he would find the other.

That had turned out to be incorrect—he found Kudo, but the teen detective refused to divulge the location of the great traitor. Either he was lying, or he genuinely didn't know where the woman was.

Either way, it made the punk useless.

But the Kudo kid was a fighter, and a damned crafty one, and the resulting chase led them here, to this place overlooking the ocean. The cliffs jutted out jaggedly into the water, and the waves crashed against them with all the power of their fury.

Gin stood with his back to the trees that circled the area.

Kudo stood with his back to the water, his heels at the edge of the precipice.

They faced each other in what was to be, most assuredly, a final showdown.

Gin leveled his gun at the brat. "Time's up," he growled, feeling a great rush of satisfaction. He was going to correct his own error, finish what he had started, and eradicate this stupid boy.

To his surprise, Kudo smiled. "I can still beat you, Gin."

The response intrigued him—the kid certainly had guts. But the statement was patently ridiculous. He was cornered—death was a foregone conclusion. Did he think an army was going to come galloping out of the trees to save him? The idea was laughable. He didn't have a prayer. "Oh? And how do you intend to do that?"

"By playing the only card I have left," Kudo's smile was grim, "and denying you something I know you want."

Gin cocked the hammer. "You've got nothing left."

"On the contrary," Kudo replied with surprising calm. He had been standing with his feet shoulder-width apart; now he brought them together in an odd move. "If I'm going to die, Gin…I can do it on my own terms."

Before Gin could fully process this, Kudo Shinichi bent his knees…and hopped backwards.

Over the edge.

Grasping it at the very last second, Gin moved to the edge of the cliff and watched as the form vanished into the darkness and shadows below. He was claimed and devoured by the crashing waves of the sea.

For a long moment, Gin stood there, staring adown at the churning water. The breeze carried the salty smell of the sea to him; the fragrance was almost overpowering. If only the aroma could be tinged with the smell of blood…

Behind him, Vodka fidgeted nervously.

Taken by a sudden burst of outrage, he gripped his gun and fired a shot down into the water. It was a futile gesture, to say the least—even if the punk had somehow managed to survive the fall (which had to be at least twenty or thirty meters), the chances of that lone bullet finding its mark were nonexistent.

And it didn't make him feel any better about the situation. He had technically won—Kudo was surely dead. But it did not feel like any sort of victory. He hadn't actually killed Kudo Shinichi himself, as he had wanted to do.

Kudo Shinichi had killed himself, one final spit in Gin's eye.

That's what he had meant about beating him—denying him the joy of the kill by taking the only avenue left to him: suicide. Dying on his own terms, and fleeing to the one place were Gin truly could not reach him, leaving Gin with nothing. He didn't even have the true pride of the kill to show for it.

It infuriated him.

He had won…but Kudo Shinichi had gotten the last laugh after all.

* * *

**PS.** _Quite dark, yes. But I rather liked this idea—ran it by a couple of people to make sure it seemed realistic. And I'm fairly pleased with how it came out. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	26. The Last Laugh

**Title: **The Last Laugh  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#19—a lost glove  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **From the moment the cuffs closed on his wrists, everything was a blur.

* * *

The days had passed quickly, in something of a blur. From the moment the cuffs had closed around his wrists onward, he was in a fog of disbelief.

His arrest had been a shock, to say the least. He and Vodka had been waiting on the platform for the train to arrive—nothing too out of the ordinary. It had been an uneventful day overall. They were on their way to headquarters. But he suddenly became aware of three men in suits standing behind him, so close as to be rude.

He was about to step away when one of the men spoke, saying three words that froze him in his tracks.

_You're under arrest._

Gloved hands caught his wrists and pulled them behind his back. As the handcuffs clicked into place, they told him that it was for the attempted murder of Kudo Shinichi and asked him to please come along quietly. It was that statement that turned him completely cold.

_Attempted_ murder?

A glance to the side proved that the same fate was befalling Vodka. Overall, though, he was just too startled to protest or resist.

The ride to the police station was silent; he heard nothing around him. He was going over things in his head, trying to piece it all together. Kudo had jumped off that cliff, rather than let himself be shot. If they had simply found the body, they should have theoretically called it a suicide—for that's what it truly was. He had jumped.

But it also stood to reason that they would figure Kudo would not do such a thing, and so label it an accident, or even suspect it to be a murder. Could they have somehow learned about the showdown, and how he had driven the kid to that edge? But there still would have been no direct evidence to link him to the brat. He had not touched the kid, and there was no ballistics evidence there. So there was no real reason for them to…

…there was one way.

The more he thought about it, the more it added up. It was the only possible explanation that used all of the information he had, the only way that the police could have known what had transpired between him and Kudo, to say nothing of implicating Vodka's part in the whole thing.

Someone had told the police. And the only one who could have given them enough information to make an arrest possible was Kudo Shinichi himself. Which meant…

…he had survived.

A one-in-a-million chance, and the damned kid had still beaten the odds. It was probably a gamble even Kudo himself hadn't dared think he could win.

Not only had Gin been deprived of the kill, but not even his empty victory had been taken away from him. He had nothing to show for his tangle with Kudo, save a trial and certainly a prison term—possibly for the rest of his life. For the first time in his decidedly long, admirable career (well, admirable to a certain type), he had lost. And not just the victim getting away or something going marginally wrong.

He had lost the game, the set, and the match. The battle and the war.

In some ways, the point wasn't really driven home until he actually saw the kid. It was the second day of his trial. The first day had been devoted to the opening statements of the prosecution and the defense, and the testimonies of police and detectives handling the case.

On the second day, the prosecution called Kudo Shinichi to the stand.

There was a murmur in the courtroom; many there knew that name. And as the case had begun to develop in the media, it became clear to many that Kudo was to be the star witness for the prosecution. And what a witness! Intelligent, young, good-looking, of excellent reputation, and with strong ties to the police department due to his detective work…he was, in many ways, an ideal person to put on the witness stand. And if the inklings being released in the news were any indication, the young man had quite a story to tell.

Gin got a good look at his would-be victim as Kudo made his way to the stand. The fall from the precipice into the sea had not been kind, though the kid had survived. He was on crutches, one leg bound in a cast; his face was ghastly pale, and he winced with each of his slow, careful movements. It seemed to point to broken ribs? Whatever the case, he was obviously in pain, and every sympathetic eye in the courtroom was squarely on him.

Kudo's testimony took the entire day. He spoke clearly and articulately; the court hung on his every word. He told a fantastic story—starting with his first encounter with the defendant, he led the court through his ordeal, guided through the story by the careful questioning of the prosecution. From the attempt on his life to his time spent in hiding, and in fear for his life and the lives of those around him, to his subsequent revival courtesy of a newly-discovered antidote, which ultimately led to his second confrontation with the defendant. Everything pertaining to his story was laid out in his testimony.

Gin listened to the entire story without so much as a flicker of emotion. His eyes stayed trained squarely on the witness, his primary accuser.

The defense latched onto the fact that Kudo had actively lied about his whereabouts while he was in hiding—and openly admitted to those lies on the witness stand—as a chisel to try and wedge open his story. But there was no shaking him or his credibility; his story did not change. The defense attorney was unable to rattle the young man.

When he was allowed to step down from the stand, he did so slowly and with obvious care to not jostle anything more than was necessary. The bailiff reached out with a hand to offer assistance. Rather than the expected murmurs and chattering over his story, the courtroom was silent. There was no shortage of sympathy in the looks the witness was given…

And there was no shortage of hatred in the glares thrown towards the one responsible.

As Kudo passed by Gin, he paused for a mere moment, his eyes finally meeting Gin's squarely. And there was no mistaking what that hard look of Kudo's meant.

_I win._

* * *

**PS.** _This is a follow-up to the previous Evil Deeds fic, in which Shinichi jumps off a cliff to escape from Gin. Only four more to go in this challenge! Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	27. Losing Bets

**Title: **Losing Bets  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#24—foundation  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **One of these days, he would learn.

* * *

One of these days, Gin reflected, he would learn.

It wasn't even that hard of a lesson, either: betting with Vermouth was hazardous not necessarily to one's health, but most certainly to one's dignity. Because she tended to win, and the victory prizes she claimed, when not fatal, ranged between the ridiculous…and the outright humiliating.

Right now fell squarely into the latter category.

Still, a deal was a deal. No matter how much his trigger finger itched. Plus, there was that whole thing with her being the Boss' favorite and all that. So she was afforded a certain degree of immunity from the everyday means of handling things (said means usually involved guns, bullets, and someone dying), simply because pissing off the Boss had a sad tendency to be fatal.

So he sat quietly while she dabbed at his forehead with a tiny brush, muttering something about foundation under her breath. She had produced this enormous bag full of powders and creams and things that looked like they should be extremely painful when used, but thus far had not been. Well, not physically painful, anyway.

His pride, however, was aching.

Finally, she stopped and stepped back to take a good look at her handiwork. After a moment she nodded approvingly and grinned. "Best you've ever looked." She passed him a hand mirror.

There was green stuff on his eyelids, pink stuff on his cheeks, and red stuff on his lips. And his whole face felt like it weighed about fifty pounds. He could barely even open his mouth to growl at her. "Vermouth…" When he spoke the word, he actually heard a cracking sound.

And then he noticed her camera.

_CLICK!_

* * *

**PS.** _Further random crack. Almost done with this challenge! Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	28. Socio: Orders

**Title: **Socio: Orders  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#12—just between us for now  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **When it came right down to it, he didn't have any human connections.

* * *

He was one who always followed orders.

It was never an issue for him, really. He had never been given an order that had given him a second thought about carrying it out. Nothing really seemed to bother him, and if a few people were caught in the crossfire and killed, so be it.

That attitude was one of the reasons that he had risen through the Syndicate ranks so quickly.

In many ways, he was the perfect agent.

Even when his instructions were to take the life of a fellow Syndicate member, he did not flinch. As far as he was concerned, a person who had outlived their usefulness or become a nuisance should be dispatched of. If he had to put a personal reason to it, it might only be that at some point the target might become a bother to him.

Overall, he really didn't care.

Business was business.

When this assignment came, it was the first one he had ever actually glanced at twice. He felt a very rare flash of surprise not because of what he was being asked to do, but because he had been unaware that such an action was needed.

But again, business was business and orders were orders.

And when the moment came, he raised the gun.

He did notice the look of shock on the man's face, though it was obscured by his ever-present sunglasses. But there wasn't time to worry about it. He took aim, and fired, killing one of the few who had been close to him at point-blank range as easily as he would kill a complete stranger.

As was his custom when he wasn't in a hurry after the actual killing, he spared a moment to inhale—the scent of blood and fear and death. It was a heady rush, and rather addictive. He enjoyed it.

Then, with one last look down at the bulky form of his former partner, he turned and walked away from the death scene, having been the only witness to his death. That was one of the things he rather liked about these assignments. The silence of death, something kept just between the killer and the victim.

But really, he was just following orders.

* * *

**PS.** _Sociopathic trait for this one is "Incapable of real human attachment to another." I think I've done both sides of the "Vodka dies" coin in this challenge. With only two themes left to write for, this will be the last of the Socio stories. Hope you enjoyed. We're almost done! Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	29. Training Newbies

**Title:** Training Newbies

**Author:** Candyland

**Fandom:** Detective Conan

**Bad Guy:** Gin

**Theme:** #25—monologue

**Rating:** PG

**Disclaimer:** Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.

**Summary:** They really needed to stop giving him new kids to train.

Why did they keep assigning him these new recruits? Gin sighed as he watched his newest trainee prance around in front of their intended victim. There were many in the Syndicate who were far more suited to training the newbies—you know, people with patience.

…seriously, though. They made him leave Vodka behind to take this preening young idiot to the job?

Gin pressed a gloved hand to his forehead and sighed. He was getting a headache. The intended victim—some poor slob of an attorney—should already be dead, and they should be on their merry way. But the damn new kid (what was his name again?) wouldn't shut up. He was posturing and preening and cackling as he taunted the lawyer.

The victim, meanwhile, cowered and whimpered. A lot.

This was supposed to be a quick, easy, in-and-out job. But fifteen minutes later, there hadn't been a single shot fired, and there wasn't even a trace of bloodshed. The risk was growing with each passing second that they stood there. And the fool of a recruit was still monologue-ing.

Finally, it was just too much. "Kid."

The new recruit turned around. "Yeah?"

One shot to the forehead was all it took, and the idiot dropped like a stone.

The lawyer stared at the dead body, obviously horrified at the murder that had just taken place before him. Then his expression shifted to relief, and he looked up to Gin with grateful eyes. "Th-thank y—"

A second shot was fired.

Mission accomplished.

As he turned to make his exit from the scene, leaving the two corpses behind, Gin made a mental note to contact that Boss. Three newbies to train in the last two months…and he'd had to shoot all of them for being damned nuisances.

They really needed to stop giving him these stupid kids.

**PS.** _You don't know how close I was to describing the lawyer as one of the characters from Phoenix Wright. You really don't. But I didn't because A) I love those guys too much to do that, and B) I couldn't decide which one it should be. Only one theme left. Hope you'll tune in for the thrilling…err, the interesting…err, the well-written…um, the conclusion. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	30. The True Enemy

**Title: **The True Enemy  
**Author: **Candyland  
**Fandom: **Detective Conan  
**Bad Guy: **Gin  
**Theme: **#30—the villain of the story  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **Own Detective Conan, I do not. Own the characters, Gosho Aoyama does. Making money off them, I am not. Borrow and write about them, I merely do. Talk like Yoda, I must.  
**Summary: **Shinichi confronted Gin, demanding to meet the head of the Syndicate.

* * *

It had been a long, desperate fight, but finally Kudo Shinichi was able to face his sworn nemesis. At last, he was face to face with the man who had tried to kill him but instead merely succeeding in screwing Shinichi's life up sideways. He had struggled against unbelievable odds to make it.

And now he had the chance to face his enemy, with the full force of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Force behind him. It was a day he would remember forever, accompanied by the prerequisite victory dances and toasts of champagne.

But now that he was nose to nose with Gin, he was content to gloat for the moment. And he had a question to ask as well, one that had been bothering him for quite some time. Now was his chance to ask it. "Your boss, Gin," Shinichi said, unable to keep that triumphant note out of his voice. "Who is he?"

The sole response he got was a glare capable of killing small animals.

"Who's your boss, Gin?" Shinichi repeated. "I demand to meet him."

Gin glared a bit more…and then surprisingly enough, he nodded. "Fine. Have it your way," he snarled, venom in every word; obviously, he did not like being beaten. And he turned around.

Shinichi was prepared to follow, as he expected to be led to the Syndicate's boss. But to his amazement, Gin simply stood there, his back to the detective. Shinichi frowned. "Well?" He normally wasn't this rude, but first of all, Gin didn't deserve any sort of manners from him, and secondly, after everything he had been through, he felt he was entitled to be a little impatient with the whole affair.

"Well what?" Gin growled.

"You said I could meet your boss," Shinichi said. "Where is he?"

"…oh, right," Gin said, and reached up with one gloved hand to remove his hat.

Shinichi stared, eyes four times their normal size, at the back of Gin's head.

Or more specifically, at the face on the back of Gin's head, set right into his hair. It would normally be hidden by his hat, but now was perfectly visible. Two dark eyes, a protruding nose, and a narrow mouth, with the rest of Gin's hair hanging down like a very long beard.

The face yawned; then its eyes zoomed in on Shinichi, and it frowned. "What is the meaning of this?" it asked in a gravelly voice. "Gin! Why did you disturb me? I was taking a nap!"

"I apologize, Boss, but the punk wanted to meet you," Gin replied in the most polite manner that Shinichi had ever heard from the murderer. Granted, if this was his boss, that made sense.

Shinichi blinked owlishly. "Your boss is…"

"My hair," Gin said flatly. "Who did you expect?"

* * *

**PS.** _I've had this mental image for eons, and I decided to just use it to get it out of my head. My best friend Kat and I are convinced that Gin's hair is the real Boss of the Syndicate—ergo, he is the true villain of the story. And with this little piece of silliness, I conclude this challenge. I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


End file.
